


Regret

by SparrowWitch



Category: Original Work
Genre: Child Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparrowWitch/pseuds/SparrowWitch
Summary: Summary from 2013: The short story of a husband's regret and his wife's impatience. (uploaded to AO3 2017)





	

"Mike! Damn it, come out of your head!" The harsh sting of a woman's voice broke him out of his reverie.

"Sorry, just thinking."

"You're always thinking! You're never really here," his wife snapped back as she crossed her arms and sat as far away from him as she could on the same two-seater couch.

"Now Helen, we have to be calm about this, snapping doesn't help anything." Dr. Clara Stevenson looked at Helen; Mike could feel the waves of pure hatred rippling outwards from Helen and knew they were directed at both Dr. Stevenson and he. At Dr. Stevenson for knowing how to speak to Mike and at him for being too caught up in his own mind.

Mike remembered when he and Helen had been happy, before they had to come and see Dr Stevenson every other week. Helen's smile used to light up his life, she used to tell jokes, and make witty comments, Mike used to find them funny. It lasted for years, but that time was far behind them.

They used to spend weekends with their daughter Grace at the beach. On cold days they'd wear jackets, beanies, and scarves, and look as the wind chopped the tops off the waves. On hot days they'd wear bathers and jump into the water off the pier. Mike could remember Grace climbing up the ladder out of the water, dripping wet and shivering. He couldn't-

"Look at him! He's not even in the goddamn room with us. How is he meant to help himself if he won't even listen?"

There it was again, the ever-repeated line of "help himself". Mike didn't want to help himself. Everyone else seemed to know why he should help himself, why he should dig himself up out of this hole, but they couldn't communicate it to him because it was something everyone knew, they'd never had to put words to it. He couldn't come out of his head – not since Grace died. It was his fault for letting her-

"Alright, I think that's it for today. I'll see you in two weeks. Goodbye Mike, goodbye Helen."

Mike found himself in the passenger seat of his wife's car, as she drove them home. She was saying something, but Mike couldn't hear what; it was distorted, like she was on the other side of a thick, grey fog. They were almost home; Mike had missed most of the twenty minute drive. After another minute, they were there. Mike unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door and left the car. Helen was yelling at him about something, but he couldn't break out of his head. It was because he had thought of Grace. He could still remember her laughter – like chiming bells, and her eyes - like twinkling stars. He would pick her up and throw her into the sea, and her tiny hands would grip his arms tightly, pretending she didn't like being thrown. He remembered her pink cheeks and how she always called him "Daddy", and looked at him like no-one else could possibly compare.

The sensation of landing on the couch jolted him out of his thoughts, he didn't remember making the decision to sit down, but it appeared he had. The rotting and ripped, mossy green couch used to be softer, now the fabric felt like sandpaper.

They always used to go to the beach together, as a happy, young family. Helen had smiled then, her eyes lighting up like their daughter's, her cheeks just as pink. Mike remembered the last day they went to the beach. It was a year ago. Grace had been wearing her bright pink swimsuit, the one she had begged Mike to buy for her. He'd bought it for her; he was such a sucker for her puppy dog eyes. Mike was just in a pair of board shorts and an old shirt. He and Grace had snuck out while Helen was sleeping for some father-daughter time. Helen didn't like it when they jumped off the pier, but they loved it. That day, they'd gone further up the pier, all the way to the end; Grace had assured him she could make it. The determination in her little face looked out of place; she'd always been older on the inside than she was on the outside. Mike had given in and they had made their way to the end of the pier, Grace smiling at the fishers and looking in their buckets to see what they had caught as she walked by. Mike laughed and had to pull her along as she got distracted looking at a crab moving in the bottom of a bucket.

"He's looking at me!" She had said, eyes wide as though she'd never realised sea creatures could look back at you. Mike had two towels over his left shoulder, but he had doubted they'd need them, as the sun was beating down on them. Mike had started to regret not bringing sunscreen. In that moment, Grace had seen the end of the pier, she'd giggled and run full-pelt all the way to the end of the pier, and dived off it. Mike had ambled up to the end of the pier, where what he saw shocked him. Grace was floating in the water, just past a hidden platform. Blood was blossoming into the water around her and she looked terrified. There was a streak of blood on the edge of the platform and Mike knew instantly what had happened. When he looked back at his little girl's face, her eyes had gone glassy. Mike had missed her final moment.

"That's it! If you want to sit in this old house, on your old couch and just think about Grace every day, you can. I'm not going to stay here with you. Every time I reassured you it wasn't your fault, I lied. You killed my baby and you won't even spend enough time out of your head to apologise. Goodbye Mike." Helen lifted the overnight bag she had packed and left, slamming the door behind her, but all Mike could think about was fishing Grace out of the water and sitting on that hidden platform with his feet in the ocean. Grace's blood flowing down his leg as her head lay in his lap, and his own tears distorting the image of her perfection.


End file.
